


Drift Compatible

by MadcapRomantic, spacepint



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, F/M, Finn/Poe Side Romance, Internalized Self-Loathing, Jaegar Pilot Poe, Jaeger Pilot Finn, Jaeger Pilot Kylo, Jaeger Pilots, Kylo Ren/Rey - Freeform, Mechanic Rey, Millennium Falcon is a Jaeger, POV change from Kylo to Rey, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Space Husbands, Stormpilot, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Unresolved Sexual Tension, graphic depictions of gore, this will eventually turn into nothing but trashy smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadcapRomantic/pseuds/MadcapRomantic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacepint/pseuds/spacepint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the portal between two worlds is open, and out from it pour nothing but nightmarish creatures hell-bent on destruction, it's up to the Jaegers and their pilots to save the world from utter ruin. Kylo Ren, the best pilot humanity's got, has a serious attitude problem, one that leaves him without a partner. Enter Rey, a brilliant young mechanic from a war-torn part of the world who refuses to take his bullshit. If humanity is to survive, the two must put their differences, and their pasts, aside and learn to fight together as one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our story. First and foremost, let's clear the air; this is a crossover fic. Set in the Pacific Rim universe, our story follows Kylo and Rey as they begin a tremulous relationship.
> 
> This fic is co-authored; Rey's portion is written by Madcap Romantic, while Kylo's portion is written by spacepint.
> 
> We are gonna be honest here; this is a buildup to smut. Trashy, trashy smut. If that's not your cup of tea, you may want to back out now. Otherwise, enjoy!

It starts with a look.

Rey watches as the young Jaeger pilot storms past her. There is rage - a great deal of it - written across the features of his face. The veins in his neck are corded, and his nostrils are flared as his footsteps echo through the room, the sound of his boots striking the metal grating like thunder. He catches Rey in the corner of his vision as he stalks past, but other than the cold look he shoots her, he pays her no heed.

“Ben!”

Rey pauses, looks up as the pilot stops dead in his tracks.

Han Solo, copilot of Millennium Falcon, stands in the doorway his son just exited.

Rey feels infinitesimally small as she presses herself against the wall, caught between the two men. She should have waited for the other techs and mechanics, shouldn’t have been in the service lift before Millennium Falcon docked, should have just been a touch slower at her job, less _eager_ -

“It’s Kylo. _Kylo_. And we are done,” comes the reply.

“Damn it, Ben!” Han runs a hand through his hair, obviously both flustered and angry. “Every time it’s like this. Every time! I am sick of your shit. What the hell do I have to do to-”

“We. Are. Done.”

Even though Kylo’s words aren't for Rey, she flinches.

“You know what? You're right. We're done. Find yourself another copilot.”

One moment, Kylo’s body goes still. The next, his helmet is careening through the air, only for it to smash into the wall, the vizor spider-webbing. The device rolls across the floor. Even from where she’s standing, Rey can see cracks in the carbon fiber.

Once Kylo is out of sight, Han bends in half, supporting himself with his palms against his knees. “Hey.”

Rey can't quite gather the courage to meet the old pilot's gaze. She makes a soft noise of inquiry all the same.

“Don't have kids.”

And even though there is still enough tension in the room to choke on, a smile curls across Rey’s face.

Even Han forces a chuckle. 

“You guys did great out there today.” Rey’s change of subject is not subtle, but by now some of the other technicians and mechanics are crowding into the hallway on their way to run diagnostics in the cockpit.

Han sighs. “Category 3.”

Rey nods, but offers nothing else as she goes about her job. She plugs her readers into several ports, checks the heat gauges and airflow as the other techs and mechanics scurry about in their attempt to get Millennium Falcon in top shape as soon as possible.

No matter how often she gets a chance to work on it, Millennium Falcon is her favorite. And why not? She's a beauty, almost ethereal in Rey’s eyes. Tall, sleek, fast, and deadly; Millennium Falcon has a kaiju body count at least a dozen higher than her next closest kin. Silver like moonlight, accented in black, with a retractable plasma cannon; she's a force to be reckoned with.

Which is why Rey frets. Han and his son Kylo - Ben, to his parents only - are the two best pilots the Jaeger program has seen. And even though Millennium Falcon is entering her old age - by Jaeger standards, at least - she's still just as deadly as when she was fresh out of the construction bay. For them to fight the way they do, however, is disconcerting. The Drift meshes two consciousnesses into one; total synchronicity is the key. For nearly every battle between monster and machine to end in one between father and son, and now for Han and Kylo to be at rope’s end with one another? To say it puts Rey on edge is an understatement.

Even with so much on her mind, however, the young mechanic continues through the turmoil. Rey’s not normally stationed on the rig, however, and it takes her a bit longer to gather her readings than it does when she works on Storm Wind. But, fifteen of the diesel engines from Storm Wind's left leg muscle strands are shot, and so Rey’s forced to wait until her higher-ups can make a decision regarding a possible upgrade. It’s not like she minds, though. As the other workers finish up and filter out, Rey’s left in beautiful solitude, and she relishes it, running her hands gently over the sleek screen-faces, the fingertips of her left hand tracing over the straps that help hold the Jaeger pilots in place.

To Rey, it’s her definition of beauty. Pure and simple beauty, crafted in carbon steel, welded with love and hope for freedom.

Rey’s unceremoniously jarred from her musings when the sound of someone clearing their throat sounds in the room. She jumps, having not heard the intruder, and when she turns, she comes face to face with Han Solo again. He’s in his civvies this time - dark pants, with a dark sleeveless vest resting over a white long-sleeved shirt with a neck that dips perhaps a little too low for someone his age. His arms are resting across his chest, and he’s leaning against the door frame.

“She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?” The old pilot runs a hand, lovingly, over a portion of the console next to Rey.

In response, she nods, stomach still fluttering with embarrassment.

“It’s Rey, right?”

That catches Rey’s attention, and her gaze snaps to Han’s. She’s a mechanic. Albeit a good mechanic, but a mechanic all the same. There are dozens of other mechanics in any room on the base at any given time, no matter the time of day. Before today, Rey doesn’t think she’s ever really spoken to Han one on one before, so it’s understandable that she stumbles with her words a bit.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, it’s Rey.”

Han smiles, tilts his head. “Poe and Finn talk about you from time to time.”

That makes Rey smile in return. She’s glad to hear that her friends think of her, speak of her with other people now and then.

“Storm Wind still out of commission?”

“For a while yet. But you know the head mechanics; they can’t make a decision without squabbling amongst each other for a while first.”

Rolling his eyes, Han laughs. “I know bureaucrats that delegate faster.” He scrubs the back of his neck with blunt nails. “You normally a permanent over on Storm Wind?”

Rey shrugs. “Yeah, but when she’s out I ask for rotation.” 

One of Han’s eyebrows raises, almost in challenge. “You’ve got a favorite?”

Swallowing, Rey tries to not think of the way she was molesting the Jaeger hardly moments ago.

Han chuckles, and Rey knows she been caught - perhaps was even set up - but says nothing in the way of denial. Poe and Finn may be her friends, but even they know she has almost an emotional attachment to the hulking rig. The reasons, however, are Rey’s and Rey’s alone, and she remains silent, even as she feels the heat in her cheeks.

“So, I’m just gonna go ahead and say it; can I interest you in a more permanent position on my team?”

Rey’s vision goes fuzzy and unfocused for a brief moment, but she blinks it away. “I’m sorry,” she says as she shakes her head, tucking a lock of hair from her face. “What?”

When Han smiles, it lights up the entirety of his face. “I asked if you wanted to permanent position on my team. I’ve seen the way you look at her, the care you take. I want someone like you to have her back.”

Mouth dry, Rey opens her mouth a few times before she nods. Then, just in case Han didn’t get the message, she nods again, clutching her clipboard to her chest, trying hard to keep tears from springing up in her eyes.

Han holds out his hand, and Rey meets it, her fingers trembling in his grasp as they shake on it.

“Should I - should I tell my supervisor, or-”

“I’ll take care of it,” Han promises. “I’m the one that asked you. Phasma’s my lead; she’ll streamline the process.”

Rey swallows the lump in her throat, those tears struggling, fighting their way out again. “Thank you.” It’s all she can muster; she knows if she speaks any more, she’ll lose the battle.

“I need a favor, though.” Han’s face is suddenly stoic, a little sad. It makes Rey’s pulse skip, then flutter, a wave of worry crashing over her. “My son and I...” He sighs. “Well, it’s not like it’s any kind of secret, the way we fight. I mean, you were there earlier today. I’m sorry about that, by the way, sorry that you got caught in the crossfire.”

Giving Han a soft shrug, Rey shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the tears in the corners of her eyes finally under control.

“I meant what I said. I’m done.”

It’s like the rug is pulled out from Rey’s feet, but instead of stumbling to the cold, hard floor beneath, she’s tumbling down a chasm, surrounded by little else but darkness.

“You’re. You’re done?”

With a grimace, Hand shrugs. “I’ve got no delusions of the shape I’m in. I’m getting old, and it’s getting time for it anyway. I think my son would be better suited with another pilot by his side. God knows the kid’s good; he doesn’t need his old man slowing him down.”

Rey bites the inside of her cheek. Hard. The copper tang of blood creeps across her tongue, but she narrows her focus and momentarily banishes the taste from her mind. This is almost too much.

But Han, oblivious to her inner turmoil, continues. “I need you to look after my son. He needs all the help he can get.”

And Rey must look like a deer caught in the headlights, because Han moves forward and places a hand on her upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Poe and Finn trust you. I want that for my son. I’m not asking you to be his friend; god knows that’s impossible, stubborn shit that he is. But he needs someone to have his back.”

Because there is nothing else for her to do, Rey nods. Han says something else, perhaps thanks her, perhaps tells her she’s got a face that’s round like the moon. None of it matters. None of it matters because in that moment, it’s too much. Han grips her shoulder again, but the next time Rey looks up, he’s gone, and that’s it, that’s the end of it, that’s all the self-control the poor girl has in the sweeping expanse of her entire life. Rey’s brain registers a dull ache when her knees hit the metal grating in the cockpit. Her clipboard clatters to the floor next to her as she brings her hands up to cover her face, and they shake on their way up, they shake when she presses the calloused skin of the heels of her palms to her closed eyelids, tears streaming down her face. Her nose is running, and she’s sobbing so hard she nearly chokes on it. But even through all of that, a weight that she’s been carrying since she was little eases off her chest, just a little.

It doesn’t matter how long she’s been on the floor crying - if anyone else is witness to it, they keep to themselves - but after a while, her sobs wrack her chest less and less, and her tears slow until they refrain from falling all together. When she stands, she wipes her face with her sleeves, knowing she looks a right mess but lacks the energy to properly care. It’s a little past the evening meal, but it’s not like the cantina actually closes, so after picking up her clipboard and submitting her readings, Rey decides she needs food and sleep, and specifically in that order.

* * *

She fills her tray with food that she normally doesn’t eat in excess, ignoring the surly look one of the cooks gives her when she swipes another brownie. Without much thought, her feet carry her to the table she normally eats at, only to be both excited and nervous to see Finn and Poe. Poe is the one to see her first, and he smiles and motions her over as though she might have become lost had he not.

Finn isn’t always without tact. In fact, normally he’s quite charming and sweet. But the first words out of his mouth when Rey sits across from him are, “you are _not_ okay.”

Finn’s copilot-come-boyfriend swats the back of his head. Rey smiles as Poe rolls his eyes. “But seriously, sweetheart; what’s going on, what happened?”

“Uh, good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” Finn says before Poe can even open his _mouth_.

“I’m not stationed on Storm Wind any longer.”

Poe’s forehead creases in worry. “You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you?” He leans across the table, his face serious.

Rey shakes her head. “No. No, the good news is... Han asked me to be a permanent on his team.”

Finn winces. “You mean _his son’s_ team.”

“You heard about that already?” Rey asks, biting her lip.

“One of the other mechs heard him throw his helmet,” Finn says, taking a bite out of his roll. “And then had to bring it back down to R&D. Did you know that they started having him test helmets without telling him he was testing their helmets? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s on our side, but the guy can throw a bitch-fit like royalty, a queen, a _drama queen_ -”

Finn’s words are cut off when Poe elbows him in the ribs.

Rey doesn’t have to turn to know who is walking nearer. Kylo’s footsteps are heavy, no matter where he walks, as if he’s made of metal like his Jaeger, instead of flesh and bone like his parents. She doesn’t turn her head, but knows that he’s looking at her, can feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her head. Maybe Han told him about Rey’s switch, or maybe the look is his attempt at trying to burn the memories of his hissy fit out of her mind so that she can’t tell anyone else about the ordeal, never mind that everyone _already knows_.

The hum starts slow, a faint sound that Rey doesn’t notice until it builds, becoming louder and louder. She shifts in her seat as she looks about, and notices that Poe’s attempt at hiding a shit-eating grin is pathetic. After a few more bars, Rey recognizes the song: God Save the Queen.

Kylo doesn’t slow his pace as he passes, even though Finn starts humming, too.

It’s all that Rey can do to keep herself from laughing, and she clenches her teeth together until her jaw hurts, knowing that if looks could kill, she’d have a dozen daggers buried in her back.

Rey doesn’t think Kylo’s completely out of earshot before Finn and Poe can’t keep it in any more, and begin singing the lyrics.

“Our mother, prince, and friend, God save the Queen!” Poe finishes with a wink.

Rey is crying, she’s laughing so hard.

* * *

The room is quiet, save for the normal sounds Rey’s grown used to over the years, such as the soft, continuous hum of the air circulation system that’s become white noise, almost a lullaby in her ears. Every now and then, something will creak - a support beam, a load-bearing wall - but these are all sounds that Rey doesn’t really hear any more, as they are simply associated with the concept of Shatterdome and base and home in her mind. She’d be worried if they were gone.

But Rey still hasn’t truly come down off of her high, and the blood rushing through her ears as she lies, flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling, only serves to amplify every little sound, causing her to jump and making her skin crawl.

She’s been still and patient for three and a half hours, but sleep is nowhere to be found. Even her eyelids refuse to settle, blinking rapidly as her brain fires off every possible scenario of her first day on Millennium Falcon’s team. She only knows a handful of the other mechanics, since she’s not stationed with them normally, and even then it’s really only a name and a position. Rey’s not simple enough to think that there’s a social butterfly hiding within; she’s mostly quiet, and tends to keep to herself, which usually suits her just fine, but now she finds herself fretting over whether or not she’ll actually be able to make a friend.

And what of Kylo? Oh, god, no matter how hilarious her friends might have been at dinner, no amount of song will help her if Kylo throws a tantrum. As Finn so delicately put it at dinner, the guy can throw a bitch-fit - as Rey can attest to. What if he’s angry enough he puts her on sludge duty? God, Rey loves being a mechanic, but she’s not sure she loves it enough to be willing to spend the rest of her career using a putty knife to scrape off excess discharge from Millennium Falcon’s joints.

She groans and kicks her feet a bit, tussling the covers until one of the edges becomes untucked and her foot slips out.

So Rey tries to be level-headed. Fussing never got anything done, and the only thing she’s allowing herself to do is worry over what surprises tomorrow may bring. Disinclined to take medication unless she truly needs it - and too lazy to properly dress in order to meet with a doctor across the compound - Rey slips on a pair of tights, pulling a loose sweater over her head as she crams her feet into her flats.

The gym is empty, which is really not that surprising given the time of night, even less so considering it’s one of the smallest ones on the compound. Still, Rey is grateful for it, and she messes with the music player until she finds a station she likes.

When the music fills the room, all else is forgotten. Rey isn’t an orphan from a sandy desert, or a mechanic hoping she doesn’t get stuck, elbow-deep, in sludge on her first day. 

She’s _alive_. Not a part of the music, but an extension of it. The bass isn’t the beat of a drum, it’s the beat of her heart as she stretches her arms out in front of her. No strings, either; that’s the blood, rushing through her veins. She takes a preparatory step back, then lock steps as the beat rounds back to one, enjoying the horns that sound off as the music continues. With or without a partner, it doesn’t matter; Rey knows the steps, has done them a hundred different times, with or without someone. But, her past always finds a way into her moves, and as she swings her hips, she also swings her legs down. True, dancing was always better than fighting with her staff in hand, but she was no fool; incorporating dancing into fighting and fighting into dance had saved her ass on more than one occasion. Fighting was muscle, strength, while dancing was dexterity and speed; on their own, effective, but together? There was a reason no one touched Rey unless she wanted them to.

There’s a click of metal on metal as someone picks up a set of free weights. Dancing in front of an audience hasn’t bothered Rey since she was younger, but when she opens her eyes and catches the assailant _staring_ at her, she freezes.

God damn it, it’s like she can’t escape him. Kylo blinks lazily, not bothering to look away even though he’s been caught.

“You ever fight with someone?”

Noncommittally, Rey shrugs. “I’ve been in a few brawls before.”

“Your style's unique. You start like a dancer, then fall into it like a scrapper.”

Rey hides a flinch at the word. She doesn’t like it. It hasn’t been used in reference to her since she left Maz’s, and she prefers to keep it that way.

After a few reps, Kylo sets the weights back, and then, _god damn him_ , he’s walking toward Rey. She vaguely thinks about how odd it will look if she simply turns around and runs away. It’s a hard decision, but she doesn’t.

When Kylo gets in her personal space, however, she wishes she had.

“Arms up.”

Rey’s brow creases, but when Kylo brings his arms up and makes fists in front of her, she realizes he is trying to show her something, and she follows suit.

It’s only sensible, then, that Rey follows instructions given by the man who is essentially her boss.

He nods when she mirrors his position correctly. “Hands up; always protect your face, your head. A broken arm hurts, but a good blow to the head can take you out of the fight completely.”

Slowly, he feigns to hit her. She ducks her head to the side and slaps his hand out of the way when she hits his wrists with her forearm.

 _Just get on his good side_ , Rey tells herself, hoping that she doesn’t actually have to get hit in order to do so.

Kylo nods, his face impassive. “Your turn; try to hit me.”

She does, going a bit faster than his practice swing, but still slow enough that he sees it coming. He moves to the right, side-stepping her swing, bringing her wrist down with the palm of his left hand while he mimics breaking her elbow with his right.

“Good.”

Rey’s mouth goes dry, and she doesn’t like the possible connotations of that.

“Try again.”

She does, this time a little faster, and still he dodges and counters with a blow that could potentially hurt her, had they actually been fighting. Well, there’s a reason he fights Kaiju, even with his attitude problems; Kylo’s good at what he does.

They step around one another, Rey still throwing soft blows, Kylo still blocking, dodging, or countering.

“You’re very good,” Rey offers, aware that Kylo already knows. She thinks she might see the corners of his mouth curl up, ever so slightly, but it happens so fast it’s not hard for her to convince herself it was merely her imagination.

“Let me show you a new one.”

Rey nods, slightly intrigued.

Kylo drops into a stance that Rey moves to copy. He rolls his eyes when she can’t quite get the arm positions correct, but she lets him move her by her elbows until he’s satisfied. “Take a step toward me,” he instructs, taking a step back in turn.

She does, but Kylo rolls his eyes. “Your lead foot, step with your lead foot.” He abandons his stance in front of her to come to rest behind her, and Rey suddenly feels very claustrophobic. Kylo’s front isn’t completely pressed against her back, but he’s close enough that she can feel the heat rolling off of him. He wraps his arms around hers, large hands tugging at her wrists until she’s positioned the way he wants her.

His breath is warm as it falls over Rey’s ears when he speaks.

“You’re a mechanic; no one expects you to be good on your feet.”

And oh great god damn, the boy’s gone and done it. Rey’s had enough, and doesn’t care if she ends up on sludge duty until the oil dyes her hands black, she’s _done_ , past done, can see done in the rear-view mirror.

Her hands come up and grip the front of his shirt tightly where it presses just slightly above her right shoulder. With the fabric gripped tightly in her fingers, Rey takes a step forward, causing Kylo to follow step, suddenly off-balance. Rey uses his weight against him, taking another step forward and rolling her body.

Kylo is lying, flat on his ass, on the gym floor, staring up at the ceiling with a look of pure and utter confusion.

“Funny,” Rey throws as she looms over him, her arms akimbo. “You’re a pilot; everyone expects _you_ to be.” She rolls her eyes at him and leaves the gym, knowing damn well she’s not going to get _any_ sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The ceiling has water stains on it.

Kylo is dimly aware of the pain in his back, can feel it moving out into his limbs, but the wind has been knocked out of him and he hasn’t caught his breath yet. 

He has no idea what the fuck just happened.

“Funny, you’re a pilot; everyone expects _you_ to be.” The disdain in her voice is evident, and it takes him a moment to realize that the girl he’s been instructing has thrown him on his ass. 

_‘You’re a mechanic; no one expects you to be good on your feet.’_ He feels a brief moment of remorse once he realizes how condescending his words to her had been, then burning self-loathing. He couldn’t even talk to her for more than ten minutes before ruining it. Ten. Fucking. Minutes.

He had noticed her around - had been noticing her for _months_ \- but the opportunity to approach her one-on-one had never presented itself before, and there was no way in hell he was going to talk to her for the first time in front of other people. He didn’t even know her name, because no one had ever said it within earshot. Asking around would start unnecessary rumors, and they might give him the wrong name, anyway - he doesn’t tend to ask about someone unless he’s planning to make their life hell. It wouldn’t be the first time the crew had banded together in solidarity against Kylo’s fury.

When he’d seen her in the gym, it had taken a moment for him to register that they were alone. Once she’d started dancing, he’d realized he had a perfect opportunity to start a conversation, and from there, it had morphed into an impromptu sparring lesson. He couldn’t have come up with a better scenario for a first encounter if he’d planned it, and he’d blown it _within minutes_.

He can feel his rage rising. Usually he would let it flow, let it _consume_ him, and it would manifest itself in the destruction of whatever items were unfortunate enough to be in his path. But he’s already done enough to sour this situation, and he’s not going to fuck it entirely by losing his temper.

He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, the way his uncle had taught him years earlier. He imagines being in his bed at home, the smell of petrichor drifting through his open window, the dulcet tones of the rain as it hits the ground. Breathe in. Breathe out. He can feel the fury leaving his body.

He’s in control again.

He opens his eyes and starts to say he’s sorry, but he realizes halfway through that he’s alone in the gym. Fuck. For a moment, he thinks that he’ll go to her room and apologize, but then he realizes he has no idea where her quarters are, what her name is, _and_ it’s three o’clock in the morning. He already has enough of a reputation, and skulking around the hallways in the middle of the night trying to find a cute mechanic’s room won’t improve it. Probably best to just wait until tomorrow.

He sighs as he moves back to the weights. He’ll do a few more circuits to burn off the adrenaline his rage had brought, and then head back to his bedroom. 

He knows he won’t be able to sleep.

* * *

He looks for her the next morning in the mess hall, but he doesn’t see her. Poe and Finn are sitting in their usual spot, but the girl isn’t with them. The completely irrational thought that she’s avoiding him springs to mind, and he scathingly tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. She knocked him on his ass, she can’t be that afraid of him.

She’ll turn up sooner or later. He glares at nothing in particular and viciously stabs at his food with his fork for the remainder of the meal.

* * *

When he finally sees her, she’s talking to Phasma in the docking bay of Millennium Falcon. He hangs off to the side, waiting for them to finish whatever errand the mechanic is on so that he can catch her alone and finally apologize.

“I’m glad the transfer went through without a problem. You’ll be meeting the rest of the crew shortly, and I have some diagnostics I’d like you to run when we’re done,” he overhears Phasma tell her as she leads the smaller woman into the lift.

He closes his eyes and wishes he believed in a god, if only to have someone to curse. She was fucking working on Millennium Falcon now. How many of the crew already knew about last night?

Kylo surreptitiously glances around the docking bay, and catches a few crew members talking to each other with smirks plastered on their faces. A couple of them are looking directly at him when he makes eye contact, but they abruptly look away and stop smiling.

Shit. Everyone knows. They always do.

He clenches his jaw and strides towards the lift before he can stop himself. He’s probably not going to get a chance to catch her alone today if she’s just gone through a Jaeger transfer, and he needs to get this over with.

Phasma quirks a brow at him as he arrives in the lift, and the girl is staring blankly ahead, refusing to acknowledge his presence. He clears his throat. “Can I… talk to you, for a minute?”

The mechanic’s gaze stays resolutely in front of her. “You already are.”

Phasma is trying to keep her expression neutral, but she’s failing miserably. He _knows_ she’s going to give him shit for this later, but he can’t bring himself to care too much. Phasma’s the closest thing he has to a friend in this shithole; he’s used to her ribbing. 

“What I said last night was really stupid. I’m sorry.” He grinds his teeth together, and he can _feel_ Phasma’s surprise radiating from the corner. 

Rey is still staring straight ahead, but there’s a tension in her jaw that wasn’t there before. “Apology accepted.” He wishes she would look at him, even if only to glare. 

“Did you have to tell everyone, though?” He bites out, unthinkingly.

“I haven’t told _anyone_ that I kicked your ass.”

“Rey kicked your ass? Oh, I like her already.” Phasma’s tone is all smarm and admiration, and Kylo can feel his face start to flush - in part because he’s ashamed that he managed to turn what should have been a simple apology into a debacle, but mostly because he _finally knows her name_.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have things to attend to,” Rey says, steadfast, as the lift comes to a stop and she walks out of it. Phasma follows behind her, but turns to give him a knowing look once she’s outside the lift.

He stares holes into the back of Rey’s head until the lift doors close, but she never looks back.

* * *

Kylo’s sitting in his usual spot in the mess hall during dinner when the hair on the back of his neck stands up and a relative hush falls over his side of the room. He stops chewing and swallows, keeping his eyes downcast as he rises from his seat.

He knows exactly who it is, even before he sees the all-too-familiar boots. His eyes flick up and he inclines his head in a deferential nod. “General Organa.”

“Ben. As you know, you’re going to be needing a new copilot soon.” Her tone is clipped and professional. “I have a candidate I want you to spar with.” There is a glint in her eye that he learned to read a long time ago: _do as I tell you and don’t give me any shit_.

He’s instantly suspicious. “A candidate? As in, singular? Who is it?” He really hopes it isn’t Hux, but he doesn’t think his mother is nearly stupid enough to believe there could be any compatibility between him and that brown-nosing son of a bitch.

“I can’t tell you at the moment, this is just a courtesy notice before it’s announced publicly. I felt it would be… _prudent_ to give you some advanced warning.”

He wants to argue, but he knows it’s pointless. Candidate trials are always public, a regulation put in place years ago after allegations of favoritism had ripped through the Jaeger program. It was hard to select incompetent candidates when the entire crew could watch and evaluate talent for themselves. Cadets are usually given access to candidate dossiers on their trial matches, but there are no hard and fast rules about it.

That his mother doesn’t feel comfortable telling him about his match speaks volumes about the reaction she expects from him.

He isn’t going to like the candidate choice, and she knows it.

* * *

Six of hearts to seven of spades. Nine of spades to ten of diamonds.

Kylo sits as his desk, numbly going through the motions of solitaire on his tablet. He’d left the mess hall shortly after his mother had; his appetite had disappeared and he wanted some damned privacy before the inevitable shitstorm.

It’s not so much the trial itself that’s bothering him. It’s that as soon as it’s announced, everyone will know that Kylo Ren needs a new copilot. That Han has finally become so disappointed in his son that he can’t bear to be in his head anymore.

And when this candidate trial fails, _which it will_ , he will have to see the disappointment and disgust on his father’s face. He will have to watch his mother comfort his father, because that’s what she does, _what she’s always done_ , while he’s left to his own devices.

He’s drawn from his brooding by the crackling of the PA system. “Candidate trial at 2100 hours. Kylo Ren and Rey Kanata are to report to the combat room.” Confusion washes over him. He’s never heard of a Rey Kanata before, he hasn’t even heard of a Rey before today.

Shit. _Shit_. Kylo stands up so quickly that his chair falls behind him. He tells himself that it couldn’t be the mechanic, that there has to be another Rey at the Shatterdome. But then the look Phasma gave him as she left the lift flits across his mind, and he _knows_ what happened.

* * *

“It didn’t take you long to find me,” Phasma grins over at him from where she sits, her arms coated in grease up to her elbows.

“It wasn’t hard, I just had to follow the smell of betrayal and motor oil, you _traitor_.” He’s so angry that spit flies from his mouth as he yells. Another person would have quailed under the death glare he’s giving her, but Phasma just sighs and starts cleaning her arms off with a wet rag.

“ _Not_ telling your mother about a potential candidate would have made me a traitor. It comes with the oath I swore to uphold when I joined the Pan Pacific Defense Corps. Which you well know, since you had to swear it, too,” she gives him a pointed look as she rises from the ground, “We’re here to protect the world, not one man’s ego. Grow up.”

His shoulders sink and he visibly deflates at her words. He knows she’s right, as much as it pains him to admit it to himself, and he’s silent for a few minutes. 

“Did it have to be Rey?” Kylo asks quietly.

Other people wouldn’t notice, but Phasma has known him long enough to recognize the sadness in his voice and eyes.

“She knocked you on your ass. I’d say that’s a pretty strong indicator you might be drift compatible. I’ve never heard of anyone getting the jump on you before, not even me,” she smiles fondly.

“You came the closest,” he mutters as his mouth turns up at the corner.

“It still wasn’t close enough. If there’s a chance that you’re drift compatible with her, don’t you want to find out? You can pull that ‘lone wolf’ routine all you like, but we both know you’re lonely.”

“The only reason she knocked me on my ass was because it was completely unexpected,” Kylo grimaces, “It was a fluke. There’s no way she’ll be able to do it again, and no matter how this trial plays out, it’s going to end poorly. If I go too easy on her, everyone will know and she’ll never forgive me, and if I hurt her…,” his head shakes as he stares off in the distance, “If I hurt her, I won’t be able to look at myself in a mirror. Either way, it’s fucked.”

Phasma’s eyebrows furrow in a scowl and her voice takes on a hardened edge. “You’re such a pessimist. She’s nowhere near as petty as you are. Even if this trial goes as poorly as you think it will, it’s not the end of the world. _She’ll get over it_. Quit being so dramatic.” She twists the rag in her hands as she moves to walk past him.

Kylo hears the snap of the towel right before he feels the pain in his upper thigh. “What the _fuck_ , Phasma?”

“You’ve earned it. Now come on, I’ll walk you to the combat room. The trial is supposed to start in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

The trial won’t begin for another five minutes, but the edges of the combat room are filled with spectators, and people are beginning to spill out into the hall. Kylo isn’t surprised; most of the crew have felt personally victimized by him at one point or another, and all of them long to see someone put him in his place.

General Organa stands at the front of the room, and Rey is standing next to her, stiff as a board. The poor girl looks like she’s going to vomit, and he feels a pang of empathy; he can remember his first candidate trial, and how nervous he was. A familiar cuff is on Rey’s arm, and he recognizes it as his mother’s. Her face is soft as she speaks to Rey, and Kylo knows she’s turning up the motherly inflections for the mechanic’s benefit. Part of him is glad that his mother seems to like her well enough to have taken Rey under her wing, yet another feels a stab of envy given the fact that they seem close enough for Leia’s maternal instincts to have kicked in.

The General gives Rey’s arm a quick squeeze, and then she’s being ushered into the ring.

A bow for formalities, respect, as is tradition.

They start slow, circling each other on the mat, visually sizing the other up. Kylo easily has quite a few inches on her in terms of height, but if the bruise on his ass is any indication of hidden muscle, he knows that she’s stronger than she appears. A part of him had decided that the only reason she was able to best him in the first place was because she took him him by surprise, but watching her across the mat, her eyes as sharp as her focus, Kylo begins to doubt himself.

The room is silent, and most of the spectators seem to be holding their breath. After all, Kylo Ren’s never found himself in the business of finding a new partner before, so many of the onlookers are watching the pilot spar for the first time outside of a Jaeger, and outside of his normal fitness drills.

Kylo watches as Rey steps with grace, never completely picking her feet up from the mat as she walks. Just a toe, or a knuckle - never much contact, really - but the sound it makes as they circle one another seems to be one of the loudest in the room. He’d seen her moves in the gym the night before; she was a dancer of some sort, that much was for certain, and he knew she had at least a few moves.

He swears her gaze lingers - _just for a second_ \- at the point where his tank top meets his pants. He quickly glances down to see that the trail of hair at the lower part of his abdomen is faintly visible through the white of his shirt.

It’s in that moment that she strikes. 

Or, at least, she tries to. Kylo, already having been surprised by her before, turns out of the way, rolling his shoulder back and avoiding a punch Rey had been aiming straight for his solar plexus.

They spring back from one another like spooked animals, then go about circling one another again, each falling back into predator mode.

Off to Rey’s right, Kylo can see Finn and Poe, the two of them wearing matching shit-eating grins, Poe whispering something under his hand at his boyfriend. Finn’s smile makes Kylo’s gut clench, and, even with emotion getting the better of him, he springs forward and strikes, landing a blow to Rey’s shoulder.

She seems surprised, to say the least, then infuriated as she rolls her neck. The look on her face is anything but pleased, and Kylo can’t help the little flip his stomach does at the scrunched-up face she makes when she’s obviously angry.

Still, he muses, it’s not like she has that much of a chance. He’s been a pilot for _years_ , honing his skill both in his Jaeger and out of it. He knows he’s a skilled combatant, of that there is little doubt. It’s a point made clear by the fact that when he feigns left with a quick jab, then sweeps his right leg out, he manages to knock Rey to the ground.

“Zero, Two.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

Rey’s foot hooks behind his knee, sending him tumbling down. He lands flat on his ass thanks to the spirited little mechanic for the second time in less than a day, and even though Kylo is a little annoyed he hadn’t seen it coming, he’s still impressed by her.

“One, Two,” she counters, and he doesn’t have to look at her face to know that she’s smiling.

Finn and Poe clap from across the room, and several of the other people around them whistle and clap along.

Surprisingly, when Kylo stands and offers his hand to Rey, she accepts it, but as soon as she is back on her feet, they spring apart once more.

“That’s enough hand-to-hand,” General Organa interrupts from across the room. “I’d like you to try a few rounds with the staves.”

Kylo’s gaze snaps to where his mother is standing outside of the ring. She’s wearing a smile that he doesn’t like the look of, but refuses to challenge her on it. He is slightly curious as to what his mother has in mind, but he still doesn’t have to _like it_.

He watches as Rey picks a bō staff, and he mirrors her in that respect. He likes the feel of the wood in his hands, the sturdiness of it, the potential it has.

Not nearly as much as he likes the smirk Rey wears as her feet fall back into place opposite him.

Kylo is more than aware of the eyes on him, of the grins plastered on the faces of those surrounding them. For a moment, he even thinks he sees his mom smirk, but if she does, he suspects it’s for a different reason entirely.

“You got this, girl!” Poe shouts from across the room.

Rey is like liquid with all of the fluidity in which she moves. The staff is not a weapon but an extension of her own person, and she wields it with a frightening intensity the likes of which Kylo hasn’t seen in another fighter for quite some time. He wonders where she learned to carry herself like a fighter - she lacks the usual finesse, as though her skills are self-taught.

She comes at him like lightning, and he barely reacts in enough time to block the onslaught of blows she sends his way. Her staff is a flurry of movement and the crack of the wood hitting wood as each strike falls sounds like thunder.

And while she’s good - of that there is little doubt - Kylo has years of fighting under his belt, and once he sees an opening, he makes for it, shifting his own staff downward as she swings her own at him, causing her to misstep ever so slightly.

He thinks he has a clear shot, _it should be a clear shot_ , but she surprises him yet again and pinwheels the staff in one hand, nearly knocking his own from his grasp. She strikes his thigh; not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough that the sound cannot be mistaken for anything else.

“Two, two.”

More people in the room start to holler and whoop.

Oh, now it’s getting _good_. There’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and he can feel a few drips of his own as they creep down his neck. He smiles; he can’t help it, and he’s glad he does, because Rey, surprisingly, gifts him one back. It’s small, one that shows a little bemusement, but it’s a smile all the same.

They fall into another dance of matching blows - block, defend, hit, retreat, wash, rinse, repeat - and finally, _finally_ something happens. That something just happens to be a bit of a dirty move on Kylo’s part. Their staves are about to meet in the middle, their hands spaced far apart enough that there is no danger of broken fingers, but Kylo, at the last moment, pulls his weight backwards, and Rey takes a stumbling step toward him. One of his hands lets go of his staff completely and reaches forward, and with it he grabs Rey by the neck of her shirt, using their momentum to pitch her forward.

He tries to step out of the way of her tumbling form, and while he’s quick, Rey is right there with him. As she tumbles forward, she lets go of her staff completely and grabs onto his wrist and, using her _own_ momentum, she falls and brings Kylo right down with her.

The room is quiet, as quiet as when the match started, like no one can believe what the fuck just happened.

And then, because he’s at a complete loss for words, for emotions, for _cognitive function_ , Kylo Ren, copilot of Millennium Falcon, destroyer of kaiju, resident asshole and supposed savior of mankind, starts to _laugh_.

He’s flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, knocked on his ass thrice in a single day, by the same firecracker of a young woman, no less, and he’s laughing so hard tears are streaming down his temples to fall into his hair.


	3. Chapter 3

Six other mechanics in the cockpit, and no one thought to sign out a goddamn pair of wire strippers. Rey’s hair bounces as she hustles through the halls, muttering under her breath. “I’m the only one with an excuse; they haven't assigned me a new set of tools.” She sighs, aggravated. “But _no_ , apparently between six grown men-”

Rey hears her name called from across the room she’s edging around. Her head snaps to one side, but the echo is a little distortive given the space. She itches at her ear, eyes scanning across a plethora of faces.

Poe catches her gaze. He’s standing at a bit of an odd angle, one hand resting upright against the other. He twists the upright one, giving it a bit of a wave.

Rey tosses two thumbs up in his direction, smirking.

Poe throws her a nod and a wink, then turns back to whatever he was previously engrossed in.

She turns on her heel to pick up her pace again and accidentally shoulder-checks some poor bastard.

The poor bastard turns out to be Kylo. He’s regarding her with a curious look, and even glances toward where Poe has his back turned toward them, but his only other movement is the cock of his right eyebrow. 

He looks like he’s about to say something - their first words to one another since their match, actually - but Rey can’t deal with it at the moment, can’t get the clouds out of her head. “Sorry! Sorry, have to run, job to do,” she says while absolutely _not_ running away from the pilot; it’s more of a brisk walk-run than anything. Point is, she really _does_ have a job to do.

Her tongue almost chokes her, suddenly huge and dry in her own mouth as she flees. Flashes of their sparring match spring to the forefront of her mind, and her feet rush just a little faster, desperate to outrun such thoughts. General Organa had been so persuasive - gentle, sure, but stubborn and unwilling to take no as an answer. Why did Rey ever agree to that stupid sparring match? Why did she ever bother to give Kylo Ren more than a second thought? How did six grown-ass men forget to bring the _wire strippers_?!

* * *

The movie of choice is some disaster from the time before the Kaiju invasion, when problems seemed so much more muted in comparison. Rey and Poe silently fight over the bowl of popcorn between them while Finn spits running commentary about how stupid the leading woman is for going back to her loser boyfriend.

“Why? Why would anyone do that? He treats you like shit, girl! You should-”

Poe throws a handful of popcorn at his boyfriend.

The woman on the screen gets a knife to the belly.

Finn groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What did I just tell you?” he huffs, ignoring Poe’s antics.

The credits start to roll, and Rey stretches out.

“You nervous?” Poe asks, dumping the unpopped seeds into the wastebasket.

Rey scratches at the base of her scalp, not really sure what answer to offer. “I guess,” she finally settles. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going to make it through.”

Finn turns to her like he’s been slapped. “Excuse me? You’re not going to make it? Were we watching the same fight?” He turns to Poe. “You were there with me, right? We watched her wipe the floor with that stuck up-”

“Pilot,” Poe interjects, gently. “When Rey is made Kylo’s partner, we have to be supportive-”

“What do you mean _when_?” Rey snorts. “I mean, yeah, we were a good match on the floor, but it’s only because our fighting styles are so unique.”

The look Finn levels her with is beyond incredulous. “Are you serious?” His gaze snaps toward Poe. “Please tell me she isn’t serious.”

Rolling his eyes, Poe ignores his boyfriend’s antics. “Rey, you were amazing out there.”

When Rey goes to open her mouth, Poe’s hand raises to stop her. “We’re your friends. If you did bad in that ring, we’d tell you. As much as I don’t like the guy, I think you might be his match.”

Practically feeling the flush on her face, Rey turns her head. “Even if we are well matched - and I’m not saying we are - I’ve never taken any formal fighting classes; they wouldn’t want someone like me at the academy. And besides-”

The intercom springs to life and static permeates the room for a brief moment. “Rey Kanata, please report to the bridge. Would Rey Kanata please report to the bridge.”

Rey stands and brushes a few stray kernels of popcorn off her pants. “It’s a denial, you’ll see. I’m going to go all the way up to the bridge for them to very politely tell me that I’m just not what they are looking for.”

* * *

“Rey, you’re _exactly_ what we are looking for in a copilot for Kylo.”

With what feels like a stone sitting in her stomach, Rey stands, stock-still, on the bridge. General Organa is smiling at her, and while normally the General smiling for any reason is usually a good sign, Rey can’t help but feel sick.

“There must be some mistake, ma’am. I’m not a fighter, I’m-”

“I’m sure you’ve got a million excuses as to why you shouldn’t, but can you give me a good reason why you wouldn’t?”

Her mouth works, but no sounds escape it, and Rey has the distinct feeling that she looks like a fish, floundering above the water. “With-with all due respect, ma’am, Kylo is...”

“Is?”

“Well, he’s an asshole.”

Rey expects many things, considering she’s just insulted the General’s own son. She’s not sure if one of those things is the General laughing so hard she’s holding her sides - but Rey’s entire world has been turned upside down in the last few minutes, so she supposes it might be as likely as any other outcome.

“See?” General Organa finally straightens. “Do you know how many other candidates would be terrified of saying something like that in front of me?”

“I-”

“Let alone to his face?”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but I didn’t call him an asshole to his _face_.” Right, Rey, like _this_ is the time to argue _nuances_.

The General is still fighting back laughter. “No, but you knocked him on his ass when he acted like one.”

That got a little shock out of Rey. “Who-”

“Phasma.” The name is offered before Rey can even finish her question, but she supposes it makes sense; why _wouldn’t_ Millennium Falcon’s head mechanic not report to the general?

“I caught him off-guard, and-”

“Rey, we both know where this is going. I’m going to remind you that I was there, watching the two of you spar yesterday, and you’re going to try and tell me it was just another fluke, and I’m going to insist that I know my son better than you do.”

Rey’s mouth closes with an audible click, her teeth knocking together as she tries to sort out her thoughts.

After a few moments of silence, General Organa gently grips Rey’s shoulder, their gazes catching. Gone is the General’s previous mood; upon her face is a look of fierce devotion, gentleness etched into the wrinkles upon her face. “I can’t force you to be Kylo’s copilot, Rey. I can’t, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. This is your decision. That’s why it’s just you and me up here; no Kylo, no Phasma, no Finn or Poe - no one else. If you don’t feel like you can do this, all you have to do is say no.”

There’s an ache in Rey’s chest, a feeling that throbs in time with her heart beat. If she says no, Millennium Falcon’s without a pair of pilots, and mankind’s future is that much more bleak. If she says no, General Organa and Han Solo will be disappointed in her. Her friends will be disappointed in her. 

If she says no, she’ll be disappointed in herself.

She nods, swallows the gravel in her mouth, and speaks. “Alright. I’ll try. There’s still the Drift test.”

General Organa smiles at her, and Rey isn’t sure she likes the looks of it.

* * *

Rey is trying very hard not to throw up. She’s trying, but every now and then a nervous hiccup will make her chest contract and she panics, thoughts a rush of, _‘oh god, here it comes,’ ‘not again,’_ and _‘someone shoot me, please.’_

This entire situation is so messed up that Rey starts to doubt if this is reality at all; Kylo’s dad asks Rey to be a permanent team member with Millennium Falcon, Kylo’s mom thinks they are drift compatible and asks her to try a neural handshake, and _Kylo_? Kylo _fucking_ Ren is goddamn beautiful when he smiles.

She’d scream into her pillow if she thought it would end in any way other than her throwing up, so Rey swallows, nearly chokes on her tongue, and tries again to _not throw up_.

The knock on her door makes her jump. Her heart’s either stopped altogether, or is hammering so hard in her chest that she just can’t feel it, and she’s not sure which one scares her more. When she pulls the door open, the hinges protesting with a shrill cry, Rey is at least somewhat relieved when she sees Finn standing in her doorway.

“Hey, girl,” he says, holding a bundle of cloth out to her. “Brought you your suit, but figured you could use a familiar face.”

BB, Poe’s Welsh Corgi, pushes the door open with his nose, standing up on his hind legs to give Rey’s hand a good, warm lick. Rey scratches behind BB’s ears, then ushers them both inside. “I am not going to lie; I am freaking out a bit.”

Finn challenges her with a raised eyebrow. “A bit?”

She runs her hands over her face, a nervous habit. “ _A lot_. I am freaking out _a lot_.”

The pilot pulls her into a hug. “You’re gonna do fine. More than fine. No one is expecting anything from you; it’s just a test. If you do great, awesome. If you don’t, no big deal. You’re the first person Kylo’s agreed to even _try_ drifting with, so let’s count that as a victory.”

BB whines from the floor.

Pushing herself out of Finn’s hug, but keeping herself in the circle of his arms, she shakes her head. “I know. I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Finn lets her go, moving his arms so that he may dig around in the pockets of his jumpsuit. He pulls out a protein bar, holding it out to Rey.

Rey, however, shakes her head. “I don’t think I could stomach anything right now. Not even water. I’m too nervous.”

Strong hands partially unwrap the bar, and Finn holds it out to her, expectantly. “Take it from someone who knows what they are talking about; the first neural connection into the drift can kick your ass, whether you’re ready for it or not.” The pilot presses the bar into her hands. “If you end up heaving after you disconnect, it’s best to have something in your stomach.”

Rey accepts the bar and bites into it, making a face. “I don’t see how.”

“Throwing up hurts when it’s just air and stomach acid.”

Grimacing, Rey chews and swallows her bite, then takes another. She’s thankful to have Finn in her corner - Poe too. “I’m not really sure what to expect,” she admits, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Finn saunters over and takes a seat next to her, leaning back on his elbows. “I’m really not sure what to tell you to expect. You’re going to be sharing memories, but it’s more than that; emotions, too. You’re going to feel the world through Kylo’s mind, and he’s going to do the same to you.”

She fidgets on the bed.

Finn sighs, touches a hand to the small of Rey’s back in a gesture of kindness, and she knows that he’s trying his best to dispel her fears. After all, Finn’s been in the drift more times than he admits to counting. But to Rey, it’s a little different, isn’t it, when the person you’re drifting with is _also_ the person you’re in love with.

Rey simply never thought she’d get this far. Sure, she’s a damn good mechanic; her transfer to the Shatterdome hadn’t been accidental or without merit. But that doesn’t mean she’d ever think of herself as _pilot material_.

Though, to be fair, she had kicked Kylo’s ass.

She sighs into her next bite of the bar, not really tasting it. She vaguely thinks it’s meant to be peanut butter, but it might as well be cardboard flavored for all the attention she’s paying it. Each bite sits heavy in her stomach.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“I don’t just mean in general. I mean about Kylo getting a front row seat to a theater in his cranium that’s playing nothing but your memories.”

The protein bar sits heavy in her throat, no matter how many times she tries to swallow it. She finally gets it down, after Finn pats her back a few times.

“Who... Who told-”

“No one, girl; not even you. Everyone around here has a story, but yours seems to be the smallest. I figured you came from trouble, escaped from trouble, or used to be trouble.”

“That’s-”

“None of my damn business, even though we’re friends. I care about the here and now, Rey. Don’t get me wrong; I’d be happy if you ever decided you wanted to open up to me. But I’m not going to hold it against you. I figure that there’s a reason you don’t talk about it. I just wanted to warn you that no matter how tightly you’ve locked some of those memories away , Kylo’s gonna get a front-row seat.”

Rey gingerly places the rest of the bar on her nightstand, just out of BB’s reach, who is already licking his chops as he watches her hand withdraw.

The silence that stretches between them is heavy, hangs on Rey’s shoulders like an actual weight; her posture dips, and she leans forward, over her legs, resting her elbows on her knees.

“It’s for the greater good.”

She can’t tell if Finn can hear how many times she’s practiced speaking the line, but he says nothing in return, only offering an arm around her shoulder as he leans in and touches their temples together.

“You tell me if he gives you any shit about it, too,” he warns. “I’m not above kicking his ass; I don’t really need _another reason_ , but I wouldn’t mind one.”

Rey laughs, her spirits brightened just a little knowing that Finn really _would_ kick Kylo’s ass for her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, both authors had personal stuff to take care of. We plan to update regularly from here on out.
> 
> * * *

Everything is too bright.

He’d been so nervous the night before that he’d given in, blunting his anxiety the best way he knew how: liquor. Several shots’ worth. He’d finished off what was left of the fifth of scotch he’d filched from the hiding place near his favorite workout room. It was smooth and smoky, and the finish had been sublime; easily the highest quality scotch he’d ever had. Of course, after the second glass, the taste became irrelevant. It was a shame to waste the good stuff when he was too far gone to appreciate it, but that was half the fun, wasn’t it?

Hux will be murderous once he realizes it’s missing. The man is a bastard, but he has fantastic taste.

Kylo smirks at the thought, and shit, even that hurts. Pulsing pain right into his temples.

The rattling of the pills in the aspirin bottle is so grating that he’s tempted to throw the it against the wall. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to make a person line up fucking arrows to open the fucking lid? They should be taken out behind a shed somewhere and shot.

He finally manages to get the cap off, and he washes down two aspirin with the swill that passes for coffee here. Saviors of the damned world, and they’re stuck with fucking Folgers. Probably a holdover from Snoke’s time as general; it has his brand of petty cruelty written all over it.

He closes his eyes for a moment, losing himself to the pain and using it to focus. He’ll get through this.

He’ll get through it, and then he’ll sleep.

* * *

There are more people than usual in the docking bay. It seems like everyone who could find an excuse to be there is present. He’s sure it will be the same way in the control room, although his mother has probably shooed most of the rubberneckers away.

Everyone wants to know how the drift test will go. No pressure. He feels an odd spike of empathy and resentment towards Rey. He knows, logically, that it’s silly for him to resent her for his mother’s affection, for the seeming ease in which she’s stepped into this role. But the realization that his feelings are illogical only makes him angrier, furious that he can’t force his feelings to conform. As much as he wants to, as much as he’s tried, he can never seem to produce appropriate emotional responses.

He knows his spikes of rage and pettiness are stupid. He knows. _Even your body betrays you, how pathetic,_ he berates himself, _almost 30, and it’s like you’re a fucking teenager. No control. Just a bundle of impulses and rage. Thank fuck you can pilot worth a damn, otherwise you’d be completely useless._

A flash of ginger hair registers in his peripheral vision, and he resists the urge to turn his head and glare. Instead, he strides over and roughly shoulder-checks Hux. On accident, of course. _For luck_ , he thinks smugly to himself as Hux wheels around.

“Ren. I see you’re as graceful as ever,” Hux sneers. “I hear they had to dip into the mechanic pool to find someone remotely compatible with you. A scrawny greasemonkey girl from the slums managed to throw you… I wish I could say that I’m surprised.” Hux still manages to look like he’s smelled something rotten, even when he’s smiling in earnest.

Kylo wonders if he would still look like that with a broken nose. Maybe a shattered cheekbone. Bruising would really bring out the orange in his hair and the green in his eyes, the freckled rat-faced fuck. But now… now isn’t the time.

 _Don’t you even **look** at her_. The thought comes out of nowhere, and Kylo knows, he just _knows_ , that if Hux had violated her name by spitting it out of his mouth, Kylo would have broken his fucking jaw.

“I wish I could say that I’m surprised, too, but is it any shock the General felt a scrawny mechanic would outperform you?” Kylo responds smoothly, lips twitching as Hux turns a violent shade of red. It clashes so terribly with his hair and freckles that Kylo has to stifle a laugh.

He knows that if he stays any longer, he won’t be able to rein in his violence. He needs to go check in anyway. He turns and walks away without acknowledging Hux further, and if Hux says anything in return, Kylo is too far away to hear it.

* * *

“Have you eaten anything?” He glances over at Rey, realizing that he should have approached her earlier about it. Maybe if he wasn’t so useless and stuck in his own head all of the time, he could actually do something helpful for her.

“Yeah, Finn brought me a protein bar earlier.” She distractedly mutters, looking down at the locking mechanism on her feet, testing her movement. He’d been in that same spot, the left pilot’s harness, when he’d first drifted. He feels a pang of bitterness at the memory that he pushes down.

“That’s good. That’s… yeah. You don’t want to come into this the first time without eating anything,” he replies, surprised that he would be truly grateful to _Finn_ of all people for anything. But Rey tends to have that effect on him, dragging up feelings he didn’t think he was even capable of anymore for people he normally would avoid.

“Did _you_ eat anything?”

He thinks about the toast he had earlier along with the aspirin and coffee. “I think I’ll be okay. This isn’t my first rodeo.” And oh fuck, he must have stepped in shit again, because she’s immediately glaring daggers at him.

“Thank you for asking, though,” he quickly adds, staring at her, _hoping_ that she’ll realize he’s not being sarcastic, because he’s just now realized how sarcastic that probably sounded. _Way to fucking go, Kylo. Yeah, work that Solo charm._

She stares searchingly at him for a moment, then shrugs and looks away. Well, at least she isn’t glaring at him anymore.

“My mother told you about what would happen, right? The jaeger is in safety mode when we’re doing the first neural connection, so we’ll be cut off from Millennium Falcon’s weapons system. Try not to chase the R.A.B.I.T.... but it’s not the end of the world if you do. Everything’s going to be okay.” He’s not sure if he’s telling that to her or himself at this point.

He stares over at her, and the nervousness on her face makes him ache. She looks like she might vomit where she stands; all of the color is gone from her face and her eyes seem like they aren’t really seeing anything. She looks so small. So vulnerable.

“Look, I…,” he starts, and he’s immediately flustered. How can she have this much effect on him? It’s torture. He’s never been good at expressing himself, but this is a whole new level of awkward fumbling he didn’t even know was possible. It’s cruel.

“I know it’s not easy. Doing all of this. Dealing with me. Drifting is scary, and it... ,” he blurts out, and he just decides to be as honest and straightforward as he can, before anything more gets mangled in translation, “Thank you. For taking the chance. No matter how this goes.” _Even though you’re going to hate me even more when you see the real me_ , he silently adds.

“The world needs you. And you need a copilot. Of course I’m going to try,” she says softly, looking down and avoiding eye contact.

He opens his mouth to reply, but the crackling of his mother’s voice over the intercom interrupts before he can make a sound. “We’re ready up here. You ready?”

Rey squares her shoulders and straightens her back as she looks over at him, pausing a moment before she nods curtly.

“We’re ready,” Kylo responds, giving a tentative smile to Rey before the familiar tingling takes him.

* * *

“Mommy, can you read this one?” His little hands clasp the book as he stares up hopefully at his mother. She smiles as she slides into the bed next to him. “Ben, you _always_ want that one. Shouldn’t we try another book?”

“ _No_ ,” he says forcefully, frown marring his tiny face. “This is my _favorite_. Kylo Ren’s the coolest person in the _universe_.” He states it with the sincere authority that only a small child is capable of, so sure that he’s right that he can’t even believe he needs to say it.

His mother smiles indulgently as she carefully takes the well-worn book from his fingers. Ben snuggles into her side as she begins the tale of Kylo, leader of the Knights of Ren, slayer of dragons and righter of wrongs. He finds strength where there is none, has friends that are loyal and faithful, and has the love of the princess that he serves. He _always_ does the right thing, no matter how difficult it is.

When Ben grows up, he wants to _be_ Kylo Ren. 

When he’s left to play by himself, which is often, he ties a bath towel around his neck for a cape and takes the wrench from under the sink. It’s not the ideal sword, but Ben has always had a wonderful imagination. The woods behind his house are the perfect forest to go dragon hunting in, and Chewie, his father’s shaggy old mutt, is an ideal companion. He doesn’t talk back, just follows loyally wherever Ben runs to. When Ben falls or hurts himself, Chewie’s the one who tends his wounds, eagerly licking his tears away.

* * *

“Mommy,” Ben nudges her with the food tray, but she doesn’t move. She’s hardly left her bed for the last four days, and she doesn’t eat unless Ben begs her to. His father had to leave again, and Ben needs to be the man of the house while he’s away. One of their neighbors stops in to check on them often, but Ben sends her on her way as soon as he can every time she visits. She’d smiled when she saw his mother in the bed for the first (and only) time, and it wasn’t a _nice_ smile. Seeing another person enjoying his mother’s vulnerability felt like the worst kind of sacrilege, and Ben had decided that Ms. Olsen would never have the chance again. Even Chewie hated her, growling softly every time she tried to move past their foyer.

Ben sets the tray on the nightstand, making sure the pills sitting next to the glass of water don’t roll away. His mother isn’t asleep, but her eyes stare off into some point in the distance. He’d asked his father what his mother was looking at before he left; Han had gently clapped his hand on his shoulder and said “She’s not here right now, kid. She’s in her memories. That’s all she has left of home.”

Ben clenches his fists and tears well in his eyes. He won’t cry, he _won’t_. He needs to be strong.

He’s not the one who lost almost everyone that he knew. His mother’s hometown had fallen to the dragons that came out of the sea - monsters, that’s what everyone called them, but they were _dragons_ \- and just like that, his mother, always so strong and fiery, was gone. In her place was this strange shell that looked like her but was _not_ her, lying in her bed, and he’d vowed to take care of her shell until his mother came back to it. 

_She’ll come back, she will_ , he thinks as he goes to get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. His mother had drooled all over her cheek and onto her pillow, and he needs to clean it up. When he returns to the bed, he smooths her hair away from her cheek and gently runs the cloth against her face. He curls up next to her and tells her stories until his soft voice brings her back long enough to eat and take her medicine.

When her arms surround him and he feels her tears fall into his neck, he feels so weak and powerless he wants to kick and scream. _I’ll kill them all. I’ll kill all of the dragons one day_ , he pledges as his own angry tears fall.

* * *

The Kaiju keep coming. That’s what the dragons are called now - _Kaiju_.

After the third wave of them had attacked, mankind realized that they weren’t going to stop, and that Earth was officially at war.

So they began building bigger and better; weapons, defenses, anything and everything.

Ben has a book clutched tightly in his hands when his dad leaves for the first time. He wants to cry, but knows his dad won’t like it if he does, knows that it won’t help his mom to feel better, so he chokes back his tears and hugs his father for what he hopes isn’t the last time.

* * *

The whole world watches as the world’s first Jaeger pulls the most recent Kaiju _apart_. The censors for the TV broadcasting stations don’t even bother to fuzz the gore as Millennium Falcon rips the beast into chunks.

Humanity finally has a fighting chance, and Ben Solo is amazed at what his father is capable of.

When the Jaeger is back on base, Han finally comes home. Ben meets him at the door and jumps into the arms of his dad. Han’s co-pilot and best friend, Ben Kenobi - the man that Ben is named after - is the next to get a hug from the rowdy youngster.

Ben’s too young to realize how much his father has changed after a single battle.

* * *

It rains at the funeral. His father is one of the pallbearers, and Ben watches, heartbroken, as his father helps carry the casket of his best friend down the steps of the church.

Ben cries, but his tears are hidden by the rain.

* * *

Uncle Luke comes to stay with them. Ben isn’t sure why, but he’s glad to have one of the only remaining family members he has left under the same roof.

His uncle also brought his old dog, Artoo, a mutt that reminds Ben painfully of Chewie, with him.

Leia looks like she’s ready to throw a fit, but his dad smiles for the first time in months, and she doesn’t say a word.

Ben likes Artoo, and Artoo seems to like Ben, the dog curling up at his bottom of his feet when he’s put to bed.

* * *

His father takes him to see Millennium Falcon _in person_. She’s even bigger than Ben imagined, and he’s awestruck. For a full hour, Ben doesn’t speak, just looks up at the Jaeger with his dad at his side.

Ben wants to be a pilot. Ben wants to be a pilot, a hero, like his dad, like Kylo of the Knights of Ren, more than _anything_.

* * *

It’s the day after his fifteenth birthday when his dad takes him back on the base to see Millennium Falcon again. He’s still just as amazed as he was the first time he visited, but things are different now. They’re different because now the Kaiju are coming faster, with shorter and shorter timespans between their strikes, and Ben is no longer a child.

“Ben, I need to ask a favor,” his dad says, sitting next to him.

Ben nods. It’s not hard to tell from Han’s voice that what he needs to ask his son is something of great importance; his face says it all. There are dark crescents under his eyes, small wrinkles huddled close to the socket, near his temple. Most of his hair is grey.

* * *

His records are falsified. General Snoke handles everything quickly and quietly. Ben’s not even half a year older than fifteen, but with his gangly limbs and towering figure, he easily passes for eighteen.

Leia thinks he’s away at boarding school. He doesn’t like lying to his mom, but in order for things to work out he had to convince her he wanted to attend some posh school in the Swiss alps.

In reality, he’s shipped off to to Kodiak Island, Alaska to attend the Jaeger Academy for 24 weeks.

* * *

He always thought that his father’s hotdog spaghetti special was the worst food he would ever taste, but it turns out he was wrong.

It’s the peas they serve at the Jaeger Academy. They’re so mushy you don’t even need to chew, you just have to roll them around on your tongue and they disintegrate with a gush of distinctly non-pea flavor. And the aftertaste, well…

He skips the peas now, even though they’re almost always served as the side dish. 

Sometimes he wonders if the peas are there as a training exercise, meant to break their spirits and promote a sense of camaraderie and shared pain among the recruits. It wouldn’t be so bad, if he could bitch about them with the other trainees, but all it took was one locker room session to realize that he was out of his depth. His voice, already cracking from puberty, sounds even younger when he’s nervous. Which is all the time now.

And the others… the others talk about sex, about previous partners, about high school and college. He’s completely out of his element, and if he opens his mouth and talks, it won’t take long for people to realize that something’s not quite right.

So he keeps his mouth shut and keeps to himself. When it gets hard - and _boy_ , does it get hard - he thinks about making his father proud. He thinks about his mother’s face, staring blankly at nothing in the distance, and how many people have to suffer like that under the terror of Kaiju.

He graduates at the top of his class, narrowly edging out Hux.

* * *

It’s the day of his first drift test with his father. Ben’s excited; he’s finally going to get a chance to prove his worth, to be a hero. Even though he wishes it were under different circumstances, he’ll take any happiness he can get. He can’t keep the joy off of his face as he looks to the right at his dad, making eye contact right as the tingles start.

That’s when the nightmare begins. He’s riding through his father’s memories, each one more upsetting than the last. His father and his mother in their bed, and they’re - _oh god, no, please, I’ve never even kissed anyone yet._ His father, looking over at Ben Kenobi - _the real Ben, the only Ben, there’s no way that kid can ever live up to him, not ever, there’s only ever going to be one Ben, it hurts every time I look at **him** and realize his namesake is never coming back, never ever coming back_ \- and Ben Solo realizes with horror that those thoughts are his _father’s_ , and that niggling insecurity at the back of his mind surges forward and envelops everything. _Never good enough, never enough, never, can’t protect, can’t fix it, I let that woman see mother, I couldn’t protect her_ \- and suddenly Ms. Olsen’s sickly smirk is staring down at Leia, lying catatonic on her bed, hair a wild mess and bathrobe falling open - _don’t look at Mom that way, I hate you, I’ll **kill** you, stay **away** from her, **you shouldn’t even be in our house**._

Ben feels so much sorrow, anger, regret, pain, and shame he wants to die. Just when he thinks it’s going to let up, it comes back even stronger, like a pinball being flung back and forth in a bumper trap.

Ms. Olsen’s smirking form won’t go away. Her predatory stance over his mother, looking down on her in this private moment that was never meant to be seen, is all that he can experience. He reaches out, desperately wanting her to just leave - _Go away, go away, GET AWAY FROM HER, **I’ll KILL you, KILL--**_

_**BEN. Ben! Stop! You’ll kill us all! STOP! BENJAMIN BAIL ORGANA SOLO!!!!! Control yourself! It’s not real, none of it is real, that woman is long gone. Ms. Olsen has been dead for years! STOP. I love you, son, I’m so sorry, so sorry, I didn’t know, Ididn’tknow-** _

And then it’s over. His father yanks him back, and the drift is gone. His stomach cramps in pain, and he’s dry heaving so hard it feels like his body is going to tear itself apart.

When his body finally stops convulsing, he becomes aware of his father kneeling next to him, rubbing his back. “Ben, I’m so sorry, everything’s going to be okay. Oh Ben-”

“Don’t,” he croaks, choking down bile and a sob, “don’t call me that. Don’t you ever call me that again. _I’m not Ben_.” He spits the echo of his father’s thought back at Han, glaring up at him with all the hatred and pain a broken 15-year-old boy can. He pushes away from his father, moving on autopilot until he’s locked back in his quarters.

* * *

Every person in the Shatterdome stares at him for days after that: the new recruit who engaged Millennium Falcon’s weaponry and almost killed them all.

A team of engineers quickly develops a safety mode that’s required for all non-combat drifts going forward.

Ben goes to see General Snoke, and the man agrees to the name change. Snoke won’t let him quit, says he’s invested too many resources and taken too many risks to let Ben give up at the last minute.

Ben nods sullenly and returns to his room. Once he gets there, he sweeps all of the books off of his desk, flinging the larger textbooks at the walls until he’s a sweaty mess.

He curls into a ball and _sobs_.

He can’t go home.

It’s too late.

He’s Kylo Ren now.


	5. Chapter 5

Rey’s hands, tiny and filthy, cling to her mother’s shirt. “Mommy, don’t leave me!”

There’s a gentle touch to the back of her head, fingers carding through the hair on the nape of her neck. Her mother, tears staining her cheeks, looks down at her. “Sweetie, it’s just for a little while. I promise I’ll be back. But there’s only room for one more person, and it has to be you, baby.”

“Mommy!” Rey squirms in the arms of whoever has picked her up. She kicks and scratches, tears hot on her face, cry hoarse in her throat.

“I’ll come back for you, I promise. I’ll come back and I’ll find you.”

Three hours later, the city is naught more but rubble and ash, the footprints of giant monsters pressed into what little remains.

* * *

The shelter is too crowded. It stinks of people, of decay and death, but there’s nowhere else for them to go, no place left for them, so Rey waits. She waits for the men in yellow rubber suits who say they are from the government to come and take the dead bodies away, waits for the same men to spray her with chemicals that make her nose itch, waits to be given her portion of food for the day, waits for them to jab her with a needle and take her blood away.

She doesn’t make friends, not any more. She’d made one - a little boy named Eamon with bright blue eyes, maybe only a year younger than her - but Rey had watched him die, had held his hand as he had coughed up blood. The smell of rotting flesh never leaves the warehouse, but it’s safer than the sun outside. Even when flies swarm on Eamon’s face, when maggots finally burst through the tight, bloated flesh that was once a rosy cheek, and the men in suits finally take him away, the smell is still there. So now she doesn’t make friends.

Instead, she waits.

And she waits.

And she waits.

* * *

The city tries to build itself back up. Rey, though young and small, tries to help as best as she can. She carries tools to the aid workers; brings them bottles of water from the trucks when they ask. It’s better than being in the orphanage, even if it is colder at night.

Every day, she asks them if they’ve seen her mother.

Every day, they shake their heads.

And she keeps waiting.

* * *

The monsters come back. But they aren’t monsters anymore, they’re _Kaiju_ , and mankind isn’t so helpless as it used to be.

The city isn’t this one's destination, but it falls in the way, and Kaiju _don’t_ show mercy. Half the town is gone by the time she hears it. Rey’s running through the streets, trying to find shelter, when the whirring blades of aircraft sing a symphony that rings out clear for miles around.

Rey can’t believe her eyes. A _giant robot_ lands hardly a stone’s throw from her and rushes the Kaiju. The noise is deafening, and Rey can’t hear herself scream as she cheers her mechanical savior on.

When the battle’s over, she can’t hear much of anything anymore.

* * *

They tell her that she’s partially deaf, and she knows what the words mean, but she doesn’t understand.

The doctor says it was because she was so close to Ground Zero; that’s what they call the drop-site of the first robot - _Jaeger_. She’d re-watched the fight on the TV when they’d let her sleep in their nice, soft beds. _Millennium Falcon_ , they’ve named her. She’s shiny and chrome, and Rey thinks that’s what angels must look like.

Rey doesn’t like that the doctors ask her to stay at the clinic so they can watch her. She likes them even less when they find out she’s a runaway from the orphanage.

She knows they won't like it when she sneaks out of the hospital, but she doesn’t stick around to find out.

Rey goes back to the city and waits.

* * *

Not everyone is bad. That’s a hard lesson to learn, distinguishing the good from the bad, but Rey manages. She makes scrapper friends and together they sift through the remains of Jakku. After it’s second leveling, people deemed it a cursed place, and no one built there again. But, that also meant there was much to be pilfered, and that’s just what Rey learned to do. Scavenging wasn’t a well-paying business, but it put food in her belly and every now and then a coin in her pocket, which was more than she’s had in a long time, so she finds it within herself to be content.

Rey learns - teaches herself, really - to work machines. She’s a quick study, and beyond eager to learn. Her little fingers - growth stunted from going hungry for so long - work the delicate parts with precision many people tell her they are envious of. It makes her smile, their compliments, because her mom was the one to teach her to read, how to sound words out. She reads anything and everything she can get her little hands on, from single-page instruction sheets on how to strip wires all the way up to entire engine manuals. There are many words she doesn’t know, but she feels she understands most of what they mean.

She starts fixing things. At first, she does it for free, but when one particularly kind old lady gives her a crinkled bank note and refuses to take it back, Rey decides to charge. She has to keep her prices low, or she’ll drive away potential customers, so saving up is slow-going, but it happens.

She’s used to waiting.

She saves enough to trade someone for a busted hearing aid and then fixes it to suit her needs. There’s feedback every now and then, and sometimes it just shorts out, but it’s better than the quiet, muffled version of the world she’s grown to know over the last few years, and Rey takes what she can get.

* * *

Her motorbike is scavenged from the carcasses of other bikes, held together by sheer force of will, but _god damn_ does she love it. The way the wind feels on her skin is like nothing else in the world, and traveling from township to township acting as a glorified delivery girl is leaps and bounds better than scavenging. It’s doesn’t pay much, considering the fact that she can only take light loads on her bike, but she loves it. She will always love it.

And, at the end of every month, no matter how far away she is, she still makes time to go back to Jakku.

It’s empty.

It’s _always_ empty.

* * *

The little Asian woman gives Rey a good once-over, making the young scrapper shift uncomfortably. Usually when people size her up like that, they are thinking they might be able to take her in a fight, or knock her down long enough to try to steal her bike. There’s only so much that can be done to her body that hasn’t been done before - a broken nose, a burst eyebrow - and there’s a very specific sequence of buttons that need to be pressed on Millie - her precious bike, named after the Jaeger that put hope in her heart - or she won’t work. The woman is small like Rey, even if Rey isn’t hardly eleven, but she doesn’t look like someone who’d start a fight. Her hands look soft, and her clothes are clean.

“Where did you get that bike?”

Rey glares. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Not at all, little one,” the woman says, shaking her head and putting her hands behind her back.

“I made her,” Rey finally answers, not entirely sure why she wants to fill the silence in the first place.

The old lady smiles. “You did, did you? Tell me about her.”

“The body is scrap; the rest of her is mostly a Kawasaki Z1, air-cooled engine. Ignition battery with input sequence, else she won’t turn at all. Manual 5-speed transmission, 18 litre fuel capacity tank. I’ve clocked her out at 125mph.”

Nodding, the old woman listens aptly as Rey spews off the detailing of her most prized - and only - possession.

When Rey finishes, the woman smiles. “Would you like a job?”

Rey shoots her a look, uncertain. “What kind of job?”

“You’ve heard of Maz’s, haven't’ you?”

Everyone has heard of Maz’s. Rey tells the old woman so.

“I’m Maz.”

Rey sleeps in a bed of her own for the first time in nearly seven years. She takes a bath, eats a hot meal, and cries herself to sleep; she hasn’t been this happy since before the Kaiju started to crawl from the sea.

* * *

Rey has two jobs; she fixes, and she dances. Maz is a good woman, though; Rey dances with her clothing on, and never more than two nights in a row.

Rey likes dancing. Well, she doesn’t like the way people stare at her when she dances, but she likes to move, the fluid motions of long hours of practice, likes the way it stretches her limbs out past what she previously thought possible.

Plus, the tips? Crazy good. Rey has spending money for the first time in _her life_. She buys herself a new set of wrenches and cries when she still has enough money leftover to buy another if she wanted.

Rey likes dancing, but she likes fixing things more.

Nothing compares to the weight of a wrench in her hand.

Maz notices. Maz notices _everything_. Instead of asking Rey to dance more, she asks Rey to fix more; anything and everything. It starts with small jobs just outside the bar, like fixing a few of the storm lights in the back alley, the flickering of the neon signs in the front, and leads up to one of the most enjoyable experiences of Rey’s life: stripping down an entire car and rebuilding it from the ground up.

Fixing is better than waiting.

* * *

Maz puts the booklet on her bedside table. “I’m not kicking you out, my dear.” Her tone is assuring, but Rey can’t help the tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

“But what will I do for money? I can’t possibly pay tuition.”

“I’m offering to cover it for you.”

“Maz, I can’t ask you to do that, I-”

“Rey, sweetheart, you have potential. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t have absolute confidence in your abilities.”

“But-”

“I have a bar near campus. You can work there if you’re worried about it. That way you still have your own place.”

Rey cries tears of happiness, hugging the older woman as tight as she can manage. “I’ll pay you back, Mo-,” she slips, and quickly recovers, “Maz. One day, I’ll pay you back.”

Maz fixes one of her buns. “I know, dear.”

* * *

Her GPA after her first semester is stellar, and Rey is actually _proud of herself_. She looks at the comments her professors left, and she grins so wide her face hurts.

To celebrate, she buys herself a new outfit.

That night, she gets asked out.

Rey never thought of herself as ugly before, but she never really pictured herself as attractive, either; she’s usually got grease on her face and clothes, even more embedded deep under her nails, and the distinct smell of a motor pool wafting about her.

The guy doesn’t seem to mind, though. If the badge on his jacket is any indication - a new graduate of the Jaeger academy - he might even find it all comforting, familiar.

Rey danced on stages, sure, but there were rules at Maz’s establishments; don’t touch the dancers, don’t talk to the dancers, leave the dancers _alone_. Even though she’s had plenty of eyes set upon her, no one has ever _approached_ her with the potential of starting a relationship.

She must stay silent and wide-eyed for a long time, because the guy finally just starts laughing, telling her that he hadn’t meant to catch her so off-guard.

When she starts to stammer her way into an apology, he raises his hands and shakes his head. “It’s all good, girl,” he tells her. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you; there’s no harm in a little rejection. How about we get to know each other instead? Name’s Finn.”

Rey shakes his hand, all smiles.

Finn is her first friend since Eamon; she hopes he doesn’t die, too.

* * *

Rey’s communicator beeps in her pocket. “Just a minute,” she tells it, even though she hasn’t actually pressed the answer button yet. She finishes tying up her hair in a towel and pads back into her room, settling herself on the bed. She boots up her computer, and opens her messaging program.

Instantly, Finn’s face pops up.

“It’s movie night!” He beams at her, already eating his popcorn.

She rolls her eyes. “Start it up, let’s go!”

Finn hesitates.

“What?”

He bites his lip this time.

“ _What?_ ”

“I think I’ve met someone.”

Rey falls on her back and kicks her legs up into the air. “Oh my god, tell me _everything_.”

* * *

She’s alone in the ballroom, swinging her feet off her chair. Her tasseled hat sits in her lap.

“Miss Kanata?”

Rey jumps.

“Are you alright?”

Professor Statura takes a seat next to her.

Rey wipes the tears from her eyes. “I did it,” she says, almost numb from how overwhelmed she’s been for the last three hours.

He pats her knee. “Damn right you did.”

She doesn’t have a single friend from any of her classes; she’d always been the odd one out, the loner, the drifter. But Rey didn’t need friends to know how to turn a wrench; she’d managed through school with only video calls from Finn and Maz once a week or so.

“Summa cum laude.”

“Summa cum laude,” Statura parrots.

“My mom-”

“Would be proud of you.”

Rey wipes the tears from her eyes.

She can’t wait any longer; she has to move on.

* * *

The bathroom stall isn’t the most cramped space Rey’s ever found herself in, but at the moment, it feels like it. Her chest is too tight, and she has to dial Finn’s number three times before her shaking hands get it right.

“What’s up, girl?” Finn’s smile is contagious. “You got good news for me?”

“My transfer to the Shatterdome goes through at the end of next month.”

Poe, with a mouthful of popcorn, tries to start yelling at her, but only manages to choke himself. Finn slaps his back while Poe’s hands begin a flurry of signs. She laughs at what he’s trying to say to her - he’s still new to the whole sign language business - but loves that the three of them have an almost secret language they share.

The Shatterdome is where her friends are.

The Shatterdome is where _Millennium Falcon_ is.

Rey is going _home_.


End file.
